When the air starts to crisp and the leaves begin to blush with gold and red, there’s one place my heart always drifts back to—Grandma’s kitchen.
That little kitchen was the coziest corner of the world. The windows fogged from whatever was simmering on the stove, and the smells? They wrapped around you like a hug. But no scent brings me back more than the one that always came around this time of year: fried apples.
Fried Apples for Every Meal
It didn’t matter if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner—if it was fall, fried apples were showing up on the table. Grandma had this way of making them sweet but not too sweet, buttery but still holding their bite. She didn’t need a recipe. She just knew.
Sometimes they were served with pancakes, eggs, and sausage in the morning. Sometimes they came as a side dish with dinner. But no matter when she made them, they always tasted like home. Like tradition. Like fall had officially arrived.
The Apple Cake Everyone Asked For
As the season went on and the days grew shorter, her apple cake made its grand appearance. It wasn’t an everyday thing—no, the apple cake was special. She might make one for the family, but often someone outside the family would request it, and off it would go in a cake carrier to make someone else’s day sweeter.
I’ve never tried to make her apple cake myself—not yet anyway. But maybe this fall, I’ll make it a goal. Not just to bake something sweet, but to reconnect with that part of her I still hold so close.
She didn’t dust powdered sugar on top. It didn’t need anything extra. That cake stood on its own. Just like her.
Soap Operas and Sass in the Background
While she cooked, the TV was usually playing her soap operas in the background. I never understood the obsession, but she was hooked. The funny part? She would fuss the entire time.
“That don’t make no sense!”
“Now why would she go back to him?”
I’d sit there giggling, watching her talk back to the characters like she was in the show herself. To this day, I can still hear her voice, full of sass and warmth all at once. It was the soundtrack of her kitchen.
Still Chasing the Feeling
I don’t have my own kitchen right now, but I’ve been thinking… maybe this fall, I’ll try to recreate some of those recipes in a family member’s kitchen. Even just frying up some apples the way she used to would feel like bringing a piece of her back to life—if only for a little while.
I may not be able to fully recreate the magic of Grandma’s kitchen, but I carry the memories like heirlooms. And as I keep chasing that feeling, I know she’s right there with me—in every crisp apple, every warm dish, and every fall breeze that smells like home.
In my own way, I’m building a kitchen filled with memories, flavors, and stories—just like she did.
Dot's Petite Bakery CO. 